


A Significant Anomaly

by Brumeier



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types, Primeval
Genre: Case Fic, Community: ushobwri, First Meetings, Gen, Murder Mystery, Police Procedural, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: For DCI John Barnaby, it starts with a murder victim and ends with a creature well out of its own time. Just another day in Midsomer.





	A Significant Anomaly

**Author's Note:**

> Monster Fest: Evolutionary Throwbacks

“The body was discovered by a pair of ramblers,” Jones explained as John crouched down to make a closer examination. “Lionel Wintersmith, fifty-one.”

Forensics staff in blue paper coveralls were combing the surrounding area, which was the middle of Scothern Woods in Midsomer Todmere. George Bullard, the medical examiner, was on the other side of the body. 

“Morning, John.”

“George. Time of death?”

“Conservatively? I’d say between eleven pm and four am. I’ll have a better idea once I get him on the table.” Bullard looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Any guesses on the cause of death?”

John raised an eyebrow. “Are we guessing now?”

“It appears he’s been crushed,” George said, a bit gleefully beneath his usual respectful countenance. “Multiple fractures, restricted blood flow. I’m sure once I open him up there’ll be more interior damage.”

“And what’s that pungent smell?” It was like a mixture of sewage and swamp gas.

“An excellent question, one which I hope to answer at the soonest opportunity.”

John got to his feet and surveyed the immediate area. He didn’t see anything large enough to crush a man to death. “Jones?”

“No obvious murder weapon has turned up yet, sir. It’s possible the victim was killed elsewhere and dumped here.”

“We’ll know more once forensics has finished,” Bullard said. “But you’ll notice how much of the surrounding ground has been disturbed here, as if there was a struggle.”

John nodded. He felt certain they were standing in the primary crime scene. “What else do we know about Mr. Wintersmith?”

“According to his driving license he lives at Blackstone Hall, just on the other side of the woods,” Jones said.

“Right. Let’s go and see who’s at home. And find out what our victim was doing out in the woods at that hour.”

*o*o*o*

The first day of the investigation yielded two possible suspects in the murder of Lionel Wintersmith. The first was the very young, very beautiful second Mrs. Wintersmith, who hadn’t appeared particularly broken up by the death of her husband. The second was an old school friend of his, Silas Bennett, the local publican who’d had several recent altercations with Lionel.

Jones was still combing through the family finances and tracking Wintersmith’s movements on the day of his death. John was looking over the post-mortem report. Bullard had given him the high points: countless bone fractures, bruising to internal organs, constricted blood flow as the cause of death. The odiferous residue found on the body was still undergoing testing.

“The second Mrs. Wintersmith isn’t the sole beneficiary of the will,” Jones reported. “Any guesses as to who he left the bulk of his estate to?”

“I’d rather not play twenty questions,” John countered. He wasn’t particularly fond of guessing games, which was quite different from the type of speculation that led to logical connections in a case.

“The first Mrs. Wintersmith will be getting the bulk of the inheritance, including the Hall.”

“Hmm.” John studied the incident board. Every investigation was like a puzzle with too many pieces. It had to be worked and reworked, the extraneous pieces discarded so they didn’t clutter up the final picture. So how did the first wife fit in? “What do we know about the first Mrs. Wintersmith?”

“Genevieve Hadley-Wintersmith. She and Lionel were divorced four years ago, and she’s been receiving a substantial maintenance payment since. She owns a boutique here in Causton on the High Street.”

John nodded. Another person to interview, another piece to add to the puzzle. He couldn’t wait to hear what kind of picture Mrs. Hadley-Wintersmith painted of her late ex-husband.

“Feel up to some window shopping, Jones?” John asked, already out of his chair.

*o*o*o*

The second day of the investigation yielded another body, seemingly unrelated to the first victim though the manner of death was identical. Another suspect was added to the mix as well, in the person of Connor Temple, who was found in Scothern Woods not far from both crime scenes.

“Mr. Temple, Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby.” John sat across the table from his suspect in the interview room. “What were you doing out in Scothern Woods?”

Temple was young, in his late twenties maybe, and he was dressed in black jeans, a dark red shirt, and a black scarf. Just another rambler, perhaps, if not for the rucksack of electronics they’d found on him. And the tranquilizer gun.

“I already told you lot I’m looking for a snake.” Temple shifted in his chair, fingers tapping restlessly on the table top. He was nervous or anxious, or both. “Animal control, yeah? Like that.”

“And you have a manager we can call to confirm this?”

Temple momentarily froze in place, and John prepared himself for a lie. Instead, he got a London number and a name. James Lester.

_Yes. Of course. Connor Temple works for me. He’s completely harmless. Was there anything else?_

“Can you tell me what he’s doing in Midsomer Todmere?”

_We’ve had reports of a rogue snake. He’s gone to find it. Has he committed a crime? I can have my solicitor there by the end of the day._

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Lester,” John said. “Exactly what kind of snake is Mr. Temple looking for?”

 _It’s a bloody big constrictor. And I’d suggest you let him do his job if you have any interest in saving lives._ Lester rang off.

“Jones?”

“The website doesn’t say anything about animal control,” Jones said, gesturing at his computer screen. “Or what ARC stands for.”

“Animal Regulatory Control?” John wondered aloud. 

“They mustn’t drum up much online business,” Jones observed. “No company information, no contact information. It’s almost like –”

“Like it’s a front,” John finished. “Keep digging. See what you can find.”

He stood and grabbed his jacket. He had to step out and visit the vet’s to pick up some medicated cream for Sykes. And perhaps he’d pay another visit to the first Mrs. Wintersmith. See what she could tell him about Connor Temple and his alleged missing serpent.

*o*o*o*

Connor Temple came back into frame mere hours after being sent on his way from Causton CID. Jones had come upon him outside the Good Knight pub when he’d returned to clarify Silas Bennett’s alibi. Temple had been engaged in a heated argument with a woman, one that had ended with Temple stalking off and the woman having a pint inside the pub.

The woman turned out to be Abby Maitland, a co-worker sent from ARC. Jones had reported that the part of the argument he’d overheard had to do with Temple feeling undermined.

John wasn’t ashamed to admit he was stumped. He couldn’t find a connection between the victims or between them and Connor Temple. Aside from the murders taking place in Scothern Woods, in the same manner, it all seemed terribly random.

“What are we missing?” he muttered to himself.

John studied the incident board for another little while, and then George dropped by his desk, file folder in hand.

“You have news?” John asked hopefully.

“I do. The residue we found on both bodies has been identified.” George handed him the file. “A mix of organic compounds, including uric acid and faeces.”

Jones made a face. “Faeces?”

“Snake faeces, to be precise,” George said, leaning against John’s desk. “The residue is a variation on something called snake musk. Nasty stuff. Almost impossible to remove through conventional means.”

“Snakes again,” John said. “Either we really do have a homicidal snake on the loose, or someone’s using one as a murder weapon. Could our victims have been constricted instead of crushed?”

“It’s a definite possibility. Although from what I’ve been reading, snakes only constrict their prey until the heart stops beating. And then they eat it. For there to be so many broken bones, or a body at all…if it _is_ a snake, it’s one behaving out of character.”

“If only we knew an expert to consult,” John said, giving Jones a significant look.

Time for another talk with Mr. Temple.

*o*o*o*

John wasn’t fond of tromping through the woods at night, which was an activity he found himself doing on the job far more often than was comfortable. But if he wanted to speak with Connor Temple, this was the only way to do it. The man was presumably on the job, hunting for his snake, according to the triangulation they’d done on his mobile.

Or getting ready to loose it on another hapless victim.

Luckily for himself and Jones, Temple wasn’t making much of an attempt at keeping quiet. John could hear him arguing well before they happened upon him.

“…don’t understand. I don’t need a babysitter!”

“I’m not here to babysit you, will you please calm down?”

“Abby Maitland,” Jones said in a hushed voice.

Temple and Maitland were in a small clearing illuminated by green glow sticks. Maitland was petite, her hair short and bleached. She looked fierce from where John was standing, poking Temple in the chest with her finger.

“I’m only here to help, plonker!”

“Help with what?” John asked, announcing his presence.

Temple jumped as if someone had goosed him, but Maitland just turned a gimlet eye on John.

“This is private.”

“This is a murder investigation,” John corrected. He pulled out his warrant card. “DCI Barnaby. And you would be Abby Maitland, unless I’m mistaken.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Temple said. “It’s dangerous.”

“I want to know more about this snake of yours.” John moved slowly but steadily closer, aware that Temple, and likely his partner, had access to a tranquilizer gun. Jones was circling around from the other direction.

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” Maitland said. “Once we catch it, people will be safe.”

“Try me,” John said, and that’s when everything went bonkers.

Jones gave a shout as something impossibly large slithered through the trees.

“Bloody hell!” Maitland cursed. “Connor!”

Temple ducked behind a tree and came up with his gun, but John only had eyes for the snake. The head of the thing was enormous, larger than a shovel, and the body long and muscular. It was like something out of the old B-grade films John liked to watch, although considerably less enjoyable in person.

He felt quite incapable of moving, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear anything else. Everyone around him was shouting but it was muffled, distant. John found himself thinking of Lionel Wintersmith and Ian Graves, the two victims who’d been so painfully and fatally constricted. He’d never figured for going out that way.

Sarah would never forgive him.

It was a surprise, then, to find himself flat on his back with Jones sprawled across him, cutting off his air.

“All right, then, sir?” Jones panted. “Sir?”

“Off,” John gasped.

Once they got themselves sorted and back on their feet, John could see the snake slithering off, presumably in pursuit of Temple who was taunting it from somewhere in the dark. Maitland lingered behind, urging John and Jones to hurry up.

“They’re heading back to the anomaly! We have to make sure it goes through and lock it up!”

John had no idea what any of that meant but he followed. Snake or no, this was his case and he was going to see it through.

“Call in backup,” he instructed Jones. “Make sure they know what we’re dealing with.”

“I’m not sure myself,” Jones said shakily, but he dutifully pulled out his mobile.

John put on some speed, chasing the diminutive animal control officer. “Ms. Maitland! I don’t suppose you could tell me what that thing is exactly?”

“Gigantophis,” Maitland said over her shoulder. “From the late Eocene, which makes it about forty million years old.”

John found it hard to believe that a creature that old and that enormous could have been hiding out in Midsomer without detection. So where had it come from? Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for answers, merely action.

They burst out of the tree line, and Todmere stretched out in front of them, the waters of the lake barely rippling under the moonlit sky. Something just beneath the surface seemed to sparkle and shimmer, like a submerged disco ball. Temple’s electronics equipment was set up on the shore, but John still couldn’t determine its purpose.

The snake was easier to see, its scaly body studded with fringed tranquilizer darts that didn’t seem to be having much of an effect. It had to be at least nine meters long, if not more, and had used that sinewy length to cut Temple off from escape.

“I might need that help after all, Abby,” he said, his fear apparent. 

The snake was drawing itself closer, preparing to capture its prey. If they didn’t get Temple out of there in time, he’d be the creature’s third victim.

“I’m open to suggestions,” John said. It was all he could do not to turn tail and run. Giant prehistoric snakes were not part of his training.

And then Jones went running past, a length of wood in his hand. He swung it like a cricket bat right at the snake’s head, very effectively getting its attention.

“Now, Connor!” Maitland yelled.

Temple did an impressive leap over the snake’s body, landing roughly on the other side. While Jones kept up his attack, Temple quickly scrambled to his feet and pulled out his mobile.

“That’s it, Jones!” John called out encouragingly. “Hit him for six!”

A loud, rumbling type of growl filled the air and John froze. Now what? But it was merely coming from Temple’s mobile, which he had hooked up to some sort of amplifier sitting on the ground. John could almost _feel_ the sound through the bottoms of his shoes.

The effect on the snake was immediate. It abandoned its attack on Jones, who was looking rather knackered, and headed for the water.

“You ready?” Temple shouted above the noise coming from his mobile.

“Ready!” Maitland shouted back.

John edged closer to the edge of the lake and saw the snake was headed right for the source of the sparkling light.

“Barnaby! Is it through?” 

“Not yet,” John yelled over his shoulder. He squinted, trying to get a better look. When he saw the tip of the creature’s tail disappear he gave Temple a thumbs up and Maitland turned the electronics on.

The sparkling light coalesced into a ball. John waited for something else to happen, but that seemed to have been the ultimate goal. The growling noises stopped and the sudden quiet was almost deafening.

“Is that it?” John asked, turning back to Temple and Maitland. Jones was sitting on the ground, impromptu bat across his knees.

“The anomaly is locked,” Temple said. “Nothing in or out. It’s the best we can do.”

“That sound you played. Prehistoric predator, I presume?”

Maitland gave John an appraising look. “Pretty smart for a copper.”

John went to give his DS a hand up. “All right, Jones?”

“As long as you don’t ask me to lift my arms over my head,” Jones replied ruefully.

“That was some fine batting.”

“Thank you, sir. Any idea how we’ll be writing this one up?”

“About that,” Temple said.

*o*o*o*

In the end, Wintersmith’s and Graves’ deaths were officially declared accidental due to constriction by an unknown snake. Herpetologists both professional and amateur beat the bushes in Scothern Woods, but no constrictor was found. No-one mentioned the weirdly glowing ball in Todmere, and the next time John went out to have a look for himself it was gone.

What he did have was information he wasn’t sure he wanted. He and Jones had been briefed about the anomalies, and what the ARC – Anomaly Research Center – really did. Doorways to prehistoric times, it seemed, could just randomly open up in the English countryside or the heart of London. Temple, Maitland, and their team did their best to contain the creatures that came through and get them back to their own time periods with a minimal loss of life.

Jones looked as shell-shocked as John felt. How was it no-one had noticed dinosaurs roaming the streets? Were people really that self-involved and oblivious?

James Lester, the ARC director, had made them sign a confidentiality agreement. Temple had given John his direct number, in case any other anomalies popped up in Midsomer.

“And I thought murderers were the thing to be frightened of,” Sarah said over a glass of wine. (Confidentiality had nothing to do with spouses, of course, who would ferret out the information anyway.)

“I wouldn’t worry,” John said comfortingly. “What are the odds of that ever happening again?”

“This _is_ Midsomer,” Sarah reminded him. Sykes barked his agreement.

They weren’t wrong.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** So, I’ve recently devoted myself to binge-watching all twenty seasons of _Midsomer Murders_ \- just four eps to go! I don’t know why I love it, I just do. I do! And then came an ep with one of my fave fandom guys as a guest star, Andrew-Lee Potts. He was also Hatter in _Alice_ and Connor Temple in _Primeval_. Pondering that second connection is what led to this fic.
> 
> Special thanks to my team of beta readers and Brit pickers: thesmallhobbit and nagi_schwarz. You ladies are the best!! Any additional error-making as the result of uncontrollable tweaking is solely on me.
> 
> And now I’m going to finish the last four eps and find a corner to cry in when I don’t have any more Midsomer to fill my evenings with.


End file.
